


you're on my radar

by murakamism



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Kylo Ren is Matt the Radar Technician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 23:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakamism/pseuds/murakamism
Summary: Kylo's current predicament is this: Rey didn't like his Love Day presents, and she has no good words to say about him, yet she's grown very fond of a certain radar technician named Matt.Except that Matt is Kylo Ren, and he's head over heels in love with the undercover rebel in his midst.





	you're on my radar

**Author's Note:**

> Not very well proofread or edited, so, uh, a warning. This fic is proof that I know nothing about mechanics, whether for sci-fi or real life. Reydar is close to my heart, and I wish we had more works of them! So I couldn't help but write some fluffy, humorous reydar for once. 
> 
> This is set in a canon divergent timeline after TFA. The events of TLJ didn't strictly happen; so no Force Bond, no throne room scene. But I imagine that Kylo's past has somehow been revealed, and he continues being his lovesick puppy self. He also writes horribly romantic poetry, and it's so sappy that I saved you all from the actual text.

_Maybe the pralines were too much,_ Kylo wonders to himself. He clips a tool belt around his waist and grumbles as it clicks shut, still looser than he intended. _She’s probably never had some before. I should have gone the safe route—more milk chocolate, and just a few raspberries._

He spares another glance at himself in the mirror. A somber face stares back at him—short, curly blonde hair that doesn’t fail to hide his large, floppy ears; a pair of over-sized glasses; and the pinkness of his scar hidden underneath a patch of retractable synthskin. His jaw tightens in displeasure, and he hunkers out of his room in a disgustingly green suit, his hands already itching for a saber.

The corridors are (thankfully) empty as he makes his way out of the higher officers’ quarters. Just thinking about his situation makes him angrier—Hux hadn’t even bothered to hide his laughter when Supreme Leader Snoke suggested he go undercover—so he considers Rey instead.

According to his surveillance, she’d been red with both anger and embarrassment at his latest gift for Love Day—even though the shipment had arrived right on her doorstep, and right on time! He knew that she loved flowers, so he’d sent her not just bouquets, but actual living ones in their pots, complete with soil and fertilizer. No use in his tokens of love _dying_ while en route to the Resistance base. At least she didn’t burn them all, which he supposes is an upgrade.

Oh, and the fact that he knows the location of the newest rebel base—that’s something he buries deeply at the back of his mind. Information for him only, and meant to be kept as far away from the Supreme Leader and Hux as possible.

Still, this extra “assignment” means that he has even less time to ponder how to win back Rey’s affections. He grits his teeth and heads towards the engine room, right on time to report for duty as the junior radar technician.

A useless, _humiliating_ endeavour meant to show him how the other side operates. So that he’d have a better understanding of his subordinates.

Absolute bantha fodder.

But he can’t defy Snoke.

Kylo steels himself. He inhales deeply and then exhales, right before entering the engine room. Strangely enough, his boss Matilda is neither alone nor yelling at another incompetent technician. She’s talking to a brunette girl, instructing the younger woman on which pipes are due for inspection this week.

He’s never seen her before, and yet she looks _painstakingly_ familiar. Something about the curve of her nape, or the shade of her brown hair tucked into a single braid, or even the strong shoulders underneath the fabric of her work suit. Kylo’s lips flatten into a thin line, and he wonders if this new recruit finally means that he can finish this assignment without further ado—

“Matt! There you are. I was just telling Daisy here about our new inspection schedule. Come on and show her around. She’ll be your new partner from today…”

The girl turns towards him and Matilda’s voice becomes subdued background noise, a faint droning against the pulse of Kylo’s blood in his ears. His jaw drops open and he freezes, eyes wide open, as he meets a familiar face, a familiar pair of hazel eyes. Daisy is definitely Rey of Jakku, his scavenger, his _Rey_ —and she stares at him with a horrible disguise and no hint of recognition on her beautiful features.

There’s a moment of deafening silence when their eyes meet. Rey blinks at him expectantly, a small, polite smile blooming on her lips, and Kylo finds that all the words on his tongue have died in his throat.

“Matt? Matt? Were you listening to me?” Matilda interrupts, her hands on her hips. She glares at him, lips pursing in distaste, and Kylo snaps out of his daze and nods insistently.

“Yes, yes. Show her around, she’ll be my new partner—Daisy, yes.”

Daisy— _Rey_ —smiles even wider; it’s just a quirk of her lips, an amused grin, and yet Kylo’s heart won’t stop fluttering in his chest. He clears his throat, face burning up at the two gazes on him, and then turns around to exit the room without seeing if Rey will follow. Of course she does follow, though. He can feel it, can feel her—through the Force, through the limited space between them. He knows she’s staring at his hulking back, and so he hunches down, wishing for once that he was small and unassuming like most others.

He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.

What’s she doing here? Well, he _knows_ what she’s doing here. There’s no other reason. She’s here to infiltrate the First Order, steal some vital information and then probably burn the Finalizer down to ashes before she escapes. The Jedi is right underneath his nose, and Kylo Ren should capture her once and for all.

Except that he never really does what he should, only what he wants to.

There was something he told her once. He had offered a life away from all of this—from both the rebellion and the First Order. And she’d spit his offer back at him, rejected his heart and left it broken and bleeding.

And yet he chases after her like a downtrodden puppy, hoping that she’ll finally see that he means the best for her. Only the best.

Rey hadn’t even liked his gifts for Love Day. But if this is Daisy, then he will let her be Daisy, and the rest of the First Order be damned.

“So that was the engine room,” he explains, already walking down the corridor. “But the pipes are located even deeper inside the ship, and we’ll have to go down the maintenance shaft to look at them.”

“Right.”

The walk to the maintenance shaft is a long one, and it feels even longer with Rey hovering inches away from his shoulder. She looks onwards excitedly, gaze dragging across every inch of the Finalizer, and Kylo’s fingers twitch. He shouldn’t be sharing information with rebels, but he supposes… if it’s _Daisy_ , it’s fine, isn’t it?

_Shut up before you spill First Order secrets, laserbrain._

“That corridor leads to the Stormtrooper quarters onboard,” Kylo mumbles, gesturing towards a large corridor that branches off to their left. Rey hums and nods, hands clasped behind her back. Kylo swallows and then clears his throat. “If you turn left at the next junction, you’ll end up in the cafeteria. But we’re turning right, because that’s where the maintenance entrance is.”

“I see.” She catches his gaze and offers that same, small smile. Kylo looks away at once, already feeling the heat spread across his face.

They spend another few minutes just walking in silence. Pairs of Stormtroopers pass them, and Kylo glares. They leave him alone, barely sparing a glance in Rey’s direction, and Kylo is glad. He exhales deeply, slowly, taking a mental note of how differently they behave while off-duty… and Rey finally speaks up.

“Matt… isn’t it?”

His head whips towards her. He nods. “Yes, I’m… Matt. The radar technician.”

_Nice finish._

“We haven’t had a proper introduction yet. I’m Daisy,” she says with a wide grin. Kylo nods, focused intently on her eyes, but she doesn’t look away either. “I was just transferred here today, so I’m a little excited!”

Kylo raises a brow, an amused smirk finally snaking onto his lips.

“Excited? To work on radars?”

Rey’s mouth drops open for a moment. She blinks, caught off-guard, before continuing with an excited nod. “Y-yes! I mean, this is the _Finalizer!_ A Resurgent-class Battlecruiser twice the size of old Imperial Star Destroyers… With tractor beam projectors and deflector shielding… Incredible power harvested from Kyber crystals—what, what isn’t there to be excited about?”

She grins again, but her eyes have lost their sheen, and Kylo falters for a moment. They slow down their pace. Of course Rey knows all of this, of course she’d be a perfect engineer that the First Order would need, but she’s still a rebel, and she understands what all this power means for the rest of the galaxy.

Kylo smiles then, as much as he knows how to—which isn’t much—and offers a nod.

“Wow. You really love ships, don’t you?”

That sounds much dumber when he says it.

Rey laughs. It’s a melodic sound, loud and beautiful, bright in the bleakness of the Finalizer’s monochromatic walls. Kylo stares down at her, almost hypnotized by the blinding light that reflects off her face, off the planes of her cheeks and nose.

“I always wanted to pilot them when I was younger,” she muses. “I couldn’t get my hands on a real ship, but I knew how to work with the parts, how to dismantle and repair them.”

She offers him a cheeky grin. The tension from Kylo’s shoulders disappears in a flood of warmth.

“Then you’re the right person for this job.”

“Force, I hope so,” she mumbles.

“Don’t worry. You are.”

They reach the maintenance hatch embedded into a discrete patch of wall. Kylo crouches down and punches in a keycode—reciting it out loud for her, even though she’s clearly memorizing it as he goes—before it swings open. Rey leans forward and looks down, watches a silver ladder disappear into the darkness of the maintenance shaft, lit only by a collection of beeping electronic lights on the inner walls.

She whistles.

“That looks dangerous,” she says, with no real fear or hesitation. Kylo chuckles and sits back on his heels, pushes up the glasses that have slid down his nose.

“There are lights,” he explains, and then hits a small button by the entrance. The maintenance shaft is then bathed in white light, and the difference is so stark that Rey squints and blinks.

“Okay, okay, got it.”

Kylo shuts off the lights, and the passageway is plunged back into darkness. He stands up and swings the door closed, listening for the click of the lock. Rey only watches him curiously, those eyes focused on his every move, and he flexes his gloved hands.

“Let’s go on deck,” he mumbles in answer to her unvoiced question. “That’s where the radars are.”

She smiles at him again, soft and teasing, and Kylo forces himself _not_ to see Rey the Jedi.

“Lead me away, Radar Technician.”

If he stumbles on thin air, she says nothing.

 

 

They meet each other the next day by the maintenance hatch. Kylo steps into the corridor and freezes as soon as she looks up to meet his gaze. She smiles at him, bright and wide, a hand raising up in a wave.

“Matt!” Rey exclaims, and Kylo pats down his wig, nervous fingers running through the rough strands. He nods, walking towards her with his tool belt heavy at his hips, and tries to return the greeting.

“Daisy.”

“So,” he begins. “Today’s your first real day…”

“Matilda briefed me already,” she says, waiting until he gets close enough that she has to crane her neck up just to look at him. “Today’s inspecting pipes, watching for gas and fluid leaks, the works.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he quips, and Rey snickers, already squatting down to unlock the hatch.

“At least we get actual helmets this time.”

She kicks the backpack sitting on the ground next to her. There seems to be enough gear for the both of them, which is a good thing, since Kylo skipped seeing Matilda today. He’d had enough of the older woman scoffing at him for being incompetent at his fake-job, thank you.

The hatch swings open and the room is flooded in a beam of electric white light. Rey grins up at him, her braid more dishevelled today, before she swings herself down the ladder, backpack on her shoulders, and descends at a faster pace than Kylo expects.

“Daisy, careful—“

“It’s _fine_. I do this all the time.”

He frowns before following her descent. He folds himself into a tight ball, with his limbs too long for the ladder, and neither of them say a word until they’ve reached solid ground. The inside of the ship clangs with the hum of pipes and engines, hisses and thrumming reverberating throughout durasteel hulls. When Rey’s boots hit the ground, they echo through the chambers, on and on and on.

“Matt!”

He turns his head and catches the helmet in time. Rey grins at him from beneath her transparent visor, and he supposes he’s lucky enough to still see all of her face. She looks silly wearing a clunky, white helmet—it reminds him of primitive space-walking suits he’d seen in old holobooks—but he imagines that he looks even worse. She doesn’t laugh at him, though, and for that he’s grateful.

He misses his old helmet, his _actual_ helmet. But this one at least wouldn’t ruin his hair.

“The heating pipes start here,” she begins, pointing up to a giant chrome pipe that emerges from the wall. It hangs at her eye-level. His chest. Kylo nods, and doesn’t even stop her when he realizes that as the newbie, she shouldn’t be the one explaining that to him. But oh well, it’s not like he knew all this anyway. “But we can’t finish checking all the pipes in one day, so we’ll only go through Sections Two and Three for today.”

“All right.”

She hands him a small device with a bulbous antenna and a flickering screen. Kylo squints, watches as it reboots and flickers back to life.

“Tempra gauge. Tell me if it starts rising rapidly. If it goes over three hundred, then we’ve got a problem.”

“Right. I knew that.”

“I’ll check for instability,” she replies, holding up another tool. Kylo only nods, gripping the gauge in his hand. They start walking along the length of the pipes, each of their steps echoing in the vast chambers, and Kylo focuses all of his attention on the device in his hands instead of the woman next to him.

He’s faintly aware that Rey reaches out to press a hand against the pipes every few feet. He’s more than just faintly aware of her presence next to him, close enough that their elbows brush together every now and then. He shuffles away quietly, offering more space, but if she complains or stiffens up then he can’t tell.

The pipes hum and thrum all around them. It’s strange, being in the belly of the Finalizer, but Kylo knows that they’re alone—alone and dishonest with each other. He can’t remember the last time he’d been alone with Rey that _hadn’t_ ended up in a duel or a screaming match, so he cherishes this moment, hopes that Daisy, at least, won’t hate him for now.

_She can’t hate you if you don’t talk._

_Ah, but lots of people have proven that wrong, haven’t they?_

Kylo huffs, glaring at the device in his hands. Thankfully, the numbers are fairly stable, and far away from the three hundred range. They spend most of the first hour walking in silence, taking a few breaks every now and then—these suits are _hot_ , and he’s already sweating underneath them.

Rey pauses once to take in a swig of water. Kylo watches her, watches as she removes the helmet. Hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she’s slightly red from the heat, but she’s still _adorable_ , and Kylo is sure that there’s a stupid expression on his face right now. The woman flips her braid over her shoulder so that it doesn’t snag on the helmet’s edges, and Kylo focuses on his own drink instead of the way she clumsily tightens her pleats.

He wants to do it for her.

He looks away.

After five minutes, they resume their work and continue walking. This job is _dull_ , and with seemingly no threat of gas poisoning, Kylo wonders if it’s worth removing his safety helmet. He pauses, shoving the gauge into one of his many worksuit pockets, and then twists the helmet off his head. Rey stops, a few steps ahead of him, and only blinks as he lets out a deep sigh, glad to finally inhale cool air.

She stares at him, eyes wide—pupils bright hazel even in the dimness of the chamber. Kylo stares back at her, half of her face covered by the frame of his skewed glasses. He adjusts them and then pats down his wig, hoping it hadn’t slipped off.

“What?” he asks, voice husky with exertion. Rey shakes her head, a strange expression on her face—and then drops her hand to her side with a dull thump.

“You shouldn’t take that off.”

“There’s no leak,” he mutters. “I can’t breathe in that thing.”

“Well, if there turns out to be a leak, you aren’t supposed to.”

He stares at her with a stern gaze, with brows furrowed and face pinched. Rey stares back defiantly, and they’re silent for a few eternal seconds—until Kylo’s shoulders begin to shake with laughter, and Rey replies with a giggle of her own.

Their laughter echoes over the hiss of pipes.

“Yeah, there’s no leak. Section Two is clear,” she says, and then takes off her own helmet. She shuts her eyes tight and then shakes her head, braid whipping through the air. Kylo can’t help the smile that slips onto his face, not when she looks up at him with a mischievous grin like that.

“Good job, Technician Daisy,” he says. Kylo Ren _does not_ praise his subordinates for doing a good job, not unless they’ve truly earned it, but she doesn’t have to know that. Rey beams with pride, her chest huffed out in exaggeration.

“Now sounds like the best time for a lunch break. Don’t you agree?”

He raises a brow. Before he can reply Rey’s already sitting on the ground, huffing as she goes through the contents of her backpack. Their helmets sit on the ground beneath the pipes, and Kylo looks on and remains standing, unaffected.

Rey finally grabs two vacuum-sealed packs of sandwiches. She offers one up to him—rather, throws it in his general direction as Kylo catches it—and then grins, bright and cheery in the coolness of the room.

“I got your lunch for you, since you didn’t bother collecting it.”

“Hm.” He looks down, inspects the unappetizing meat loaf, cool-dried vegetables, and brown bread. Nutritious but dry enough to choke on. “Thanks.”

He didn’t think they’d stay down here the entire day, but that’s what he gets for not reporting for duty early enough.

He finally takes a seat, folding his long legs underneath him. The worksuit is loose and uncomfortable, but at least it allows for movement. While he peels away the wrapping, he looks up and realizes that Rey’s already shoved half of the sandwich down her throat. He muffles down a grin and takes a single bite, and then follows it with a gulp of water to mask the dryness.

They sit there in silence, even after Rey’s finished her meal. Kylo eats slowly and gracefully, and doesn’t even choke when he catches her eye—catches her staring at him intently, with her face on her palm and her nose wrinkled in thought.

_Too cute._

“Is something wrong?” he asks in between bites. Rey hums, shoulders falling.

“Nothing. You just… you eat so _proper_. It’s a sandwich, and yet you eat so _proper_.” Kylo raises a brow, about to ask her if that’s _offensive_ , but then she continues in a smaller voice. “It reminds me of someone.”

He stops chewing.

“Who?” he asks, because he can’t help it. Rey meets his eyes again, and this time her smile is sad—soft and wistful, as if the person’s long gone.

_Is that what you think of me? Long and gone?_

“Nobody,” she says. “Nevermind.”

She steps up and brushes her hands on her trousers. Kylo hums, swallowing down the last bite of his sandwich. He drinks as he watches her stretch, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. Refusing to meet his. Finally, Rey’s gaze settles on a point on the pipes, and she narrows her eyes, meaning business.

Kylo sighs under his breath.

“Give me the gauge,” she says, palm facing up. Kylo places it in her hand and steps back. She purses her lips and raises the device high up in the air.

They don’t joke about anything again for the rest of Section Three, but neither of them put their helmets back on.

 

 

Five days after he’s met Rey aboard the Finalizer, he remembers the original point of his undercover mission. So with a heavy sigh, Kylo makes his way to the cafeteria, a tray of rations in his hands.

As soon as he takes a seat at a half-empty table, the low-ranked officers sitting with him all cough into their sleeves and stand up to leave, despite some of their unfinished trays. Kylo tightens his jaw—he doesn’t want to talk to those sleazeballs, anyway—and digs into his excuse for a salad with no dressing.

Halfway through his meal, a propaganda video starts blasting through the monitors. He wrinkles his noise and looks _away_ , wishing he could throw his tray at it and make Hux’s voice shut up. Supreme First Order this, Supreme First Order that, subjugate the galaxy underneath their polished boots blah, blah, blah.

“Ugh.”

A tray slides across his. Kylo looks up and watches Rey slide into the seat across him, her lip curled in distaste. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and the neon orange harness is absent from her worksuit. She huffs, tucks away a strand of hair that strays from her mess of a braid, and then picks up a fork and stabs a potato with incredible force.

She shoves into her mouth and then greets him while chewing with her mouth wide open. “What a load of bantha fodder.”

Kylo blinks, pushing away some remnants of his… pasta? It might be pasta.

“You’ll get in trouble if they hear you saying that,” he says calmly. Rey only raises a defiant brow, funnelling more food into her mouth at a speed that is frankly frightening. Really. Kylo’s afraid that she’ll choke.

“I mean… it _is_ bantha fodder. But you shouldn’t say it so loudly.”

Rey smiles at him, a piece of rice stuck on her cheek. He finds it charming.

Of course, the propaganda video isn’t complete without a skilfully edited (well, he’ll give it that) hologram of Captain Phasma leading the Stormtroopers into battle, alongside a cloaked Kylo Ren leaping up towards the viewer and cutting down the camera in a flash of red. General Hux’s monologue ends, and all that remains is a generic First Order instrumental, slowing down to a silent beep to signal the end of the transmission.

Rey frowns at the monitor. Kylo shifts in his seat, deciding that he’s not hungry anymore.

“Do they really have to play that _every_ time?” Rey asks in a scandalized whisper. She had stopped chewing for once, if only to gaze in horror at the mess of a propaganda piece.

“I ask myself the same question,” Kylo mutters to himself. He pushes away his tray and glares at his pre-packaged drink. Seeing that transmission for the first time was a shock. He looked way cooler than that, definitely. Definitely. It did him no justice.

“I mean, how is that supposed to boost morale? Or even want people to fight for the cause?”

Kylo shrugs. “The only real thing the First Order has going for them is their high paycheck.”

That’s not technically a state secret, right?

Rey raises a brow.

“And… and wanting to ensure equality and stability across the galaxy. That’s a noble cause.”

Her brow rises even higher.

“What?” he snaps. “Sometimes you need aggressive negotiation.”

Rey sighs. She leans her chin against her hand and looks at him with a pout. An adorable pout. Kylo’s done eating; he should really leave now. Really. He has an important strategic meeting in an hour.

So of course he just sits there and opens his mouth dumbly again.

“I…I take it you don’t approve of First Order methods,” he says. Rey rolls her eyes so hard she can probably see the back of her head.

“’Not approving’ is an understatement.”

“Then why are you working here?” he asks sharply, hoping for an opening. But instead of catching her off-guard, Rey raises her chin snootily and grins back, replying with a jab of her own.

“The only real thing the First Order has going for them is their high paycheck,” she tells him. Kylo huffs.

“Junior technicians get one of the worst starting salaries of them all.”

“I was sure they’d give me a raise eventually.”

“That depends on how long you’ve been working here, rather than your skill level.”

“Oh, really? How long have you been here, Matt?” She smiles at him sweetly, _too sweetly_ , and even though it’s obvious that she’s making fun of him, Kylo can’t help but smile back.

“Long enough.”

Rey rolls her eyes again, but her lips are still curled up into a smile. Kylo watches her mop up the rest of her meal and then down her drink in under five minutes.

“I’m surprised you enjoy the rations so much,” he muses, if only to make conversation. Rey shrugs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Food is food. I’ve had worse.” She exhales deeply, now done with her meal. “Honestly, the nutrition content of First Order meals is the only _one_ thing I can think positively of.”

“Just one thing?”

She smiles at him slyly.

“There might be one person.”

Kylo tries not to jump out of his seat at the rate his heart is beating.

“Let me guess. General Hux?”

Rey bursts into laughter. The occupants of the table next to them spare them a glance, but Rey ignores them. “Ugh, no!”

Kylo gives her a thin-lipped smile.

“Matilda?”

“Hmm… nice woman, but not exactly.”

Nice woman isn’t what he would say about his “boss”, but Kylo is silent.

“Kylo Ren?”

“Huh?” Rey’s smile falls flat off her face. Her brow is sharp and challenging, and Kylo shrinks a little bit further into his chair. Is it just him or did the room get slightly chillier…

“I mean, he’s—he’s pretty cool, don’t you think?” And then because he _has_ to. “Mastered all lightsaber techniques at the age of fifteen, and then gathered and led the Knights of Ren… Uh, I—I’ve seen him during training: all shirtless and sweaty and taking down the most advanced combat droids in under five minutes. You would be _impressed_.”

Rey scowls. Her eyes narrow dangerously, and Kylo senses a dark disturbance in the Force.

“You don’t think he’s… cool?”

“ _Cool_ is the farthest thing from what I think.”

Her voice lowers dangerously. To save the rest of his dignity (and his fragile heart), Kylo figures it’s best to change the topic. His eyes dart around the rest of the room, but he realizes that he doesn’t remember anyone else’s name. Oh well then.

“O-okay, then what about me?”

Ah, yes, the room grows a little warmer. The lights have stopped flickering as well. Rey beams at him, bright as the sun, as she tilts her head to the side. Her braid swings over her shoulder.

“You’re a lovely person, Matt. I don’t dislike you.”

She reaches out to pat his shoulder. Kylo is frozen in his chair, hyperaware of her every movement—of the warmth of her slender fingers against his clothed shoulder, of the smile on her reddened lips, of the curve of her cheek and jaws exposed by her tied-back hair, of her slender arms and the grace she moves with as she returns to her seat.

Kylo blinks back at her stupidly, unsure of how to reply.

“I—I just realized I have to attend—have to re-wire… the garbage chute. Before it explodes. Yeah.”

He’s jogging away, tray conveniently forgotten on the table. Rey stares at his back with a confused wrinkle of her nose, and he runs even faster when he hears her call out “But wait, you don’t re-wire garbage chutes!”

No, but he wishes he could re-wire his brain, and that’s close enough to a garbage chute, he thinks.

 

 

Of course, he _did_ have a meeting to attend to, and a new problem with rebels ambushing their latest shipment of TIE fighters keeps him busy enough for a week. He spends two days on some Outer Rim manufacturing plant, interrogating survivors and trying to figure out where the information leak started. He spends another two days traveling through hyperspace as Hux leads him on a wild goose chase to destroy a possible lead: the latest rebel base location.

The lead turns out to be a dead end, and by the sixth day he returns to the Finalizer with an unsteady gait and barely eight hours of sleep stretched over the week. All he wants is to get some _rest_ , get some sleep and not deal with anyone else.

He’s too tired to even bring out his lightsaber. If he slashes another command terminal, then he knows it’s more work for the technicians—that is: him as Matt, and _Rey_.

Rey. He wonders if she’s still on the ship, if she hasn’t taken all the information she needed while Kylo was gone and returned to whatever backwater planet the rebels have set up base in.

He collapses into his bed still fully-clothed and with only his boots haphazardly kicked off. He’s delirious with exhaustion. Yes, that’s it. That’s what he blames when his mind wanders over to Rey, beautiful Rey with her uneven braids and her bright smile. Maybe she didn’t like the chocolates because she preferred something more filling than just dessert? He hums and wonders what she did with the flowers, if she kept them and asked a droid to watch over them while she was gone.

He dreams of her, except it isn’t really a dream—only bits and flashes of memory and desire. Her fury, wild and burning bright, as they fought on Starkiller. Her snarl, her hands twirling a lightsaber, her roar. He thinks of her smile, her secret laugh, her hand warm against his. Rey in her frayed scavenger clothes, in a drab outfit provided by the rebellion, in her oversized technician’s worksuit, in a soft white dress that flutters in the breeze. Maybe they’re in Naboo… She would like it there, he thinks. She’d love the breeze, the raging water, the endless green. He could take her there… show her a world different from what they’re both trapped in. Take her hand and—

He sleeps deeply, more deeply and more restfully than he’s ever remembered.

The Finalizer only floats on, a gigantic monolith in the emptiness of space.

 

 

He finds her hunched over an open panel of wall, her gloved hands pulling out frayed wires. Kylo shifts on his feet. The wig is back on his head, itchy and uncomfortable, but he’s learned to stop glancing at his reflection if he does pass a mirrored surface. The worksuit is still an uncomfortable weight over his body, but he supposes it’s a novelty to not wear something so fitting for once.

He clears his throat, hands behind his back. Rey turns her head to him, frowning at the interruption, before her eyes grow wide.

“Matt!” she exclaims, a grin spreading across her face. Kylo can’t help his shy smile. He shrugs one shoulder in lieu of a wave.

“Where have you been?” Rey asks, no, _demands_. She stands with a huff, her cream-colored gloves stained black with dust and dirt. The front of her worksuit is also dark with patches of oil, and he can’t help but think she looks at home like this—just a normal engineer aboard a ship, doing what she does best. What she enjoys doing.

“I was sick, sorry,” he replies. He knows he looks horrible enough that she’ll believe him.

Rey’s brows furrow with worry.

“You were sick for a _week_? I thought you were dead! Or fired. You haven’t been fired, have you? Oh, Matt, you should’ve told me. I could have brought you some soup.”

“I took a sick leave,” he explains. “I didn’t want to… infect you.”

The edge of her lip quirks upwards. “But you’re all better now? You owe me, you know. This week has been _hell_ for repairs.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She saunters up to him, hands still on her hips. Kylo looks down at her, appreciating her little smile. Sweat glistens on her forehead and on her temples, and a small dab of oil darkens her cheek. He reflexively reaches out to brush it away with his fingers. As soon as he makes contact, they both freeze. Rey’s hazel eyes widen, and redness starts to spread across her cheeks.

Kylo’s mouth drops open. He steps backwards, the stain already removed, and then looks down as he mumbles an apology. He feels the heat starting to spread through the back of his neck.

“Th-there was a stain,” he explains. He spares a glance at her face, and while she’s still red, she isn’t _disgusted_. Good, right? Rey fiddles with the edge of one of her gloves, and nods quietly.

“Thanks…”

She clears her throat and then looks down, realizing that he’s hiding something behind his back. She blinks and leans forward, hoping for a better look.

“What’s that?” she asks, voice curious. Kylo stiffens up, suddenly wondering if now really is the right timing.

“A gift,” he says. And then because Rey is dangerously close, he shoves it into her chest and winces internally. Rey removes her stained gloves, shoves them into her worksuit pocket, before taking it carefully in her hands. She examines the box. Kylo stares at her hands instead of her face.

“A box of pastries?” she asks, confused. “Matt, you were the one who was sick. So I should’ve given _you_ a gift…”

“N-no, it’s not from me!” Kylo snaps his mouth shut, and Rey eyes him dangerously. He shrugs. “It’s… It’s from Kylo Ren.”

Rey’s brows shoot up so high they’re about to meet her hairline.

“What are you talking about?”

“He came to visit me while I was sick.” He’s already started blabbing, so he can’t stop now. “He’s a cool guy, remember? Um, I fixed his room’s lock pad once. When it broke.” Because he punched it too hard and had to ask a poor droid to re-wire it immediately so he could actually go inside.

“And as a thank you… he gave _me_ a gift?” Rey asks, still disbelieving.

“I told him about you,” Kylo mutters. “And he’s heard good things about you. Like how you’re the best technician we’ve had here in a while. Um, he’d give you a raise if he could. But it’s not under his jurisdiction… or something.”

“…Kylo Ren said all that?”

“ _Yes_.”

_I’m Kylo Ren and I’m saying it right now._

“You two are actually _friends_?”

“Sort of…”

Rey stares at him, lip still curled downwards. Kylo turns his head to avoid her gaze, and she only glares at him more insistently. He clears his throat and gestures towards the box, hoping for an exit. Hoping that the wires behind her explode or something. Please. Maybe if he Force nudges the red one a little further away…

“So you don’t like pastries?” he asks instead.

Rey huffs and backs down. She looks at the package in her hands and relaxes, her lips curling into a smile. She balances the box in the crook of her elbow and tugs the lid open. With a hand, she reaches for a white cream puff and takes a bite out of it. Instantly, her eyes light up like tiny stars, and Kylo releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

She meets his gaze, those lips coated in sweet white confectionary sugar.

“All right, Matt. Tell him I said thank you.”

He nods. But then Rey tugs at his arm, forcing him to lean down, and he freezes when he sees her dive forward. Her face is dangerously close to his.

It’s over and done with by the time he realizes it’s even happened. Her lips are soft against his cheek, a little textured due to the powder, and when she pulls back she offers him a million-watt smile. Rey grins at him one last time before popping the rest of the bun into her mouth and turning away, ready to get back to business.

“I’ll tell him,” he says weakly. Rey waves him away, says something about Matilda needing him to recalibrate the radars in Section Four, and so Kylo leaves her be.

It’s only later when he’s at Section Four that he finally notes the strange looks the other staff are giving him. He imagines it’s the odd smile on his face—too large, too much teeth—until he raises a hand to his cheek and wipes away some sweat. He looks down and his fingers come back powdery-white, with just a hint of sugar and lip balm.

He swallows, throat suddenly dry.

 

 

_Pastries. She prefers pastries. That makes sense. They’re usually more filling. More practical._

Kylo hovers outside the door to the engine room, another box of pastries in his hands. He’d chosen a different assortment this time: one with more fruits and less custard. He can hear Rey inside, holding a conversation with Matilda, and so he waits, glaring at anyone who passes.

She’s due for a break soon, he knows. He can only tap his fingers impatiently against the box, each moment magnifying his sped-up heartbeat.

It’s only when he overhears Matilda dismissing Rey for the day that he can _breathe_. Except that as soon as the door opens with a _swoosh_ , Rey bumps right into his chest.

“Oh! Matt! Didn’t see you there, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he replies, stepping backwards. The box is thankfully unharmed, if not a little jostled. Rey instantly looks down and hones in on it. She hums.

“Is that…?”

And then she slides up to him and grabs his wrist, twists it slightly so that she can see what the cover says. It doesn’t hurt at all—in fact, her hand is tiny in his, absolutely _small_ —but it burns him even through the worksuit. Rey’s hand is small and firm against his larger wrist, and he swallows down the urge to grab it and caress her palm with his thumb. There’s no reason for her to still be holding onto him, no reason at all, so Kylo shuts his mouth tight and wills away the warmth spreading through his face.

“Another box of pastries,” he murmurs. Rey stands beside him now, cranes her neck to look at the box more clearly. But her hip digs into his thigh, and her side presses against his, and Kylo cannot _speak_. His voice comes out clipped and strained. “Since you liked the last one so much.”

Rey finally looks up at him and _beams_ , her teeth shining in a wide grin. Strands of hair are tucked behind her ear, and Kylo pauses, struck by how young she looks. Ever since going undercover, she’s gained some weight and lost some of the dark circles under her eyes. Lost some of her gauntness. And before he can open his mouth to speak, he feels her arm sliding around his back, reaching around him to wedge the box open. It clatters and he jumps, head whipping to the pastries in his hands.

She only grins wider.

“Thank you, Matt. You’re so _sweet_.”

She taps the box, gesturing to the pastries. Kylo clears his throat, suddenly feeling that he’s getting _played_ somehow, and not liking it.

“They’re not from me,” he insists. “They’re from Kylo Ren.”

“Hmmm…” Rey grabs a pastry and then pulls away from his side, stepping backwards to take a bite without spilling the crumbs all over her suit. Kylo turns his head to look at her. His side is… cold. “Well then, maybe he should start giving them to me personally, instead of always asking someone else to do it.”

“That’s!”

Kylo spins around, mouth wide open in protest. However, Rey’s already dusting off her hands, the rest of the bun already devoured. She looks much too self-satisfied despite the bulge in her cheeks— _a squirrel_ —and only hums, her words muffled by the food in her mouth.

“Mm, gogga ngo. Eye!” she grabs the rest of the box from him, hands sliding over his a bit _too_ slowly, and then tucks it against her hip. She waves at him with a single hand and then turns around, powder still falling from her chin.

“Thanks for the pastries again!” she finishes, and then saunters down the hallway, a skip in her step.

Kylo’s eye twitches.

 

 

Due to a personnel shortage, they’re assigned to opposite ends of the ship for a few days. Daisy— _Rey_ —can repair _anything_ , so she gets her hands on the engines, the comm terminals, the fighters docked at the hangar, and a hundred other things that she’s no doubt infiltrating for the rebels. Kylo crushes whatever bugs he can find, but he doesn’t bother confronting her. Not yet.

_I’m keeping an eye on her. It’s damage control._

A hundred other excuses that he makes up for himself.

He retires his Matt disguise and stalks the halls of the Finalizer as Kylo Ren—an imposing monster in black. Besides training, he finds himself idle, and takes to terrorizing Hux in glee until the man disables all his access keycodes.

Well, the retaliating cost of lightsaber damage on electronics that follows shuts him up again.

Perhaps that’s why Kylo finds himself standing in a shadow at the hangar bay. The rest of the base bustles with activity—serve the First Order through your productivity, after all—yet Kylo remains an unmoving statue, a pillar of blackness that watches and waits.

Passing Stormtroopers and staff give him a wide berth. Well, that works fine.

Even under the grime of dust and oil, she _shines_. That’s a feat in itself, Kylo thinks. Rey sits beside a docked TIE fighter’s wing, dismantling its cover to inspect its solar panels. She knocks at it once with a strange tool—almost a month of undercover work still hasn’t taught him anything about mechanics—and frowns, her brows furrowed together.

_Too cute._

Kylo sighs. Through his helmet, it comes off as more of a deep growl.

Despite her intelligence gathering, she’s done more work for the First Order than several high-ranking executives _combined_.

Her usual braid hangs over her back. Kylo wonders what she’d look like with her hair down, all long and flowing, slightly hazel in the sunlight. Would she ever let him run his hands through her hair, tangle his fingers in her locks? Would she let him braid her hair for her—the same ways he’d learned long, long ago from another lifetime?

His fingers twitch at his sides. His hair remains braided underneath his helmet. But what Snoke can’t see and doesn’t know can’t hurt.

The solar panels glint gold. Rey peels away a strip of wire and leans forward, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Something sparks in a tiny flash of white light. Rey blinks, lightly dazed, before resuming her work at a slower pace.

_Oh._

Something clicks inside of him, a little bit like a lightsaber powering up inside of his head.

He spins on his heel, cape swishing behind him like a black cloud. Kylo Ren exits the hangar bay, his head and shoulders held higher. Daisy the junior technician blinks and then glances at the exit, confused at the blur of blackness at the edge of her vision. But nobody is there, so she shrugs and resumes her work—implanting a tiny bomb into the solar panel of the TIE fighter.

She hopes that the pilot assigned to this starfighter isn’t a kind one. Maybe it’s that tall, haughty one—the one who hid all of Matt’s tools when he wasn’t looking, and then laughed at him behind his back. Yeah, Rey has no patience for bullies.

Her lips curl up into a mischievous smile.

 

 

He finds her again when she’s on her break, enjoying the stars outside of the viewport. She sits with her legs hanging off the ledge of a maintenance walkway, feet swinging through the air. A toolbox and First Order issued water canister are on her other side, right within easy reach. Kylo shuffles awkwardly on the ledge; he’d just pulled himself up the ladder with a huff.

Not that physical exertion _bothers_ him; it’s just that these glasses keep sliding down his nose and blocking his vision. He scowls, wishing that he could wear his black leather gloves instead of this white synthetic monstrosity.

Of course, as soon as his work boots make contact with the walkway grills, Rey turns her head towards him and greets him with a grin so bright it’s practically a blinding beam of light.

He can only nod awkwardly.

“Matt! Long time no see. I heard you’ve been busy at the lower decks all week.”

What a lie. He hasn’t dressed up as Matt for eight cycles already. Until today.

“And I heard you were giving the starfighter technicians a run for their money,” he replies smoothly, walking over to her. Rey snickers and gestures for him to sit down, so he does. He swings his legs over the walkway as well, and then tries not to make it too obvious as he wiggles his butt, trying not to sit too far or too close.

“How’s working alone?” he asks, because he supposes small talk is better than the inevitable laughter he’ll get. Rey hums in response, stretching out her arms in front of her.

“Nice and peaceful. Although I have to admit,” she glances at him slyly. “I’ve missed having a partner.”

When she leans back, her elbow brushes against his side. Kylo stiffens up. She lays her hand between them, relaxed against the grills, the very edge of her palm pressed against the side of his thigh. When she flexes her hand, he feels _every_ movement. It’s not fair.

“I thought you worked better alone?” he turns his head to her, hoping that he isn’t turning red right now. Red cheeks and his hideously blonde wig would clash disastrously.

“Hmm… can I let you in on a secret?” she asks, a strange gleam in her eyes. Kylo swallows and then nods, and then _freezes_ when she leans even closer against him, pressing against his side. She’s solid and warm, a bit softer now as she’s gotten used to the First Order diet, and strangely pliant against him. Her body is perfectly molded to his side.

Her breath is warm against his ear. Her nose barely nudges the skin of his temple. Kylo’s throat is dry. When she speaks, her voice drowns out the noise of Kylo’s pounding heartbeat.

“I was hoping that they’d assign us together again. We worked better as a team, don’t you think?”

He whips his head towards her. Rey moves away, narrowly avoiding their faces smacking together. Her smile is softer now, honest and less mischievous. Wisps of stray hair frame her face, and Kylo _wants_ desperately in a way that almost scares him—

He remembers his dream. The two of them in a different time and in a different place.

Might as well stop playing pretend.

He reaches into his chest pocket and fishes out a small card. Rey’s eyes brighten in curiosity, and he slowly hands it to her. She blinks before taking it, her fingers brushing his. He wishes he hadn’t worn his gloves this time.

She examines the card in her hands. It’s small and green, with a cartoony radar on the front, emitting tiny hearts and radio waves.

 _YOU’RE ON MY RADAR_ is written in plain Galactic Basic. Rey’s cheeks redden slightly, and Kylo reaches forward, his hand nudging hers.

“You should open it,” he murmurs. And then waits.

She meets his eyes, flickers to his briefly before looking down and opening the card. Kylo pulls away his hand.

Half of another card is pasted on the back of the front cover. It’s blue this time, a light sky blue, and the image of a yellow sun takes up most of the page. Above the drawing, another line of text appears:

_YOU’RE MY ~~RAY~~ REY OF SUNSHINE_

There’s another message written on the opposite page. Kylo looks down, waiting as she finishes reading it. He expects anger, hostility, some kind of shame— _is this a threat, Kylo?_ _Are we done playing pretend? Will you turn me over now?_

It’s a shame, he thinks. He’d spent so much time on the poem, and he’d finally taken his calligraphy pen for the first time in _years_ and written it down in familiar, soothing strokes.

Even when Rey finishes, he catches her reading and re-reading it, her eyes glazing over at a certain line. She drops her hands on her lap, card still open in her palms, as she refuses to look at him.

“Is this from Kylo Ren too?” she asks quietly. Kylo shakes his head.

“No,” he replies. “It’s from me. Matt.”

And then she finally looks up at him, her smile fond and tender. She laughs loudly, her voice ringing through the durasteel walls. Kylo hasn’t heard a more beautiful sound.

“Oh, Kylo. I knew it was you all along, you laserbrain.” She reaches out to gently bump his shoulder. Kylo returns the grin, his shoulders falling in relief. “I was waiting for you to finally admit it.”

He shrugs. “You like Matt more than you like me.”

“But you _are_ Matt.” Rey smiles at the card in her hands, running her finger along the edge of its spine. “And I don’t know anything about poetry, but comparing me to _stars?_ To the galaxy? Are you sure you’ve addressed this to the right person?”

Kylo’s face is grave. He nods. “I meant every word of that, Rey.”

She chuckles again, if only at his solemnity. “Thank you. Nobody’s ever given me something like this before.”

He nods again. He fists his hands in his lap.

“So you like it?”

“Of course I do.” She reaches out to pinch the frame of his glasses. “Now will you take off this stupid disguise? You aren’t even wearing your wig properly, you know.”

“You didn’t even bother to change your hair color _or_ your face.”

“Ah, but nobody noticed, did they?”

“I did,” he mumbles. Rey beams, and he knows that she meant for him to. “I’d know it was you from a mile away.”

“Thanks for not reporting me to your superiors, I guess. But did you really have to destroy my surveillance chips? Those were _so_ difficult to get.”

Kylo shrugs.

“Ah, whatever, I got what I needed anyway.”

“I figured,” he admits. Rey frowns at him, wrinkling her nose again. Cutely.

“Wait a minute, why did you keep acting like your gifts were from Kylo Ren? Did you really think that I didn’t know it was you?”

“…” He shrugs one shoulder. “You didn’t like my Love Day presents.”

Rey’s mouth falls open. She leans in closer and then hisses into his ear. But her face turns a lovely shade of pink, and Kylo supposes it’s not so bad.

“You delivered them right at the base! _Kylo Ren_ knows where the latest rebel base is located. Do you know how dangerous that is?!”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he replies, affronted. “Nobody else knows but me.”

“Yeah, but if anyone else found out that those were from you—“

“I didn’t leave any evidence,” he huffs. “Untraceable merchandise carried on a junk ship obtained at some anonymous Corellian outpost. There were no tracking devices, and not even the barest hint of First Order technology. The droid it came with was programmed to have its memory wiped right after delivery too—“

“I know, I know,” she sighs. “But you have to understand why I was upset, Kylo!”

He pouts, if only because he doesn’t know how else to reply.

“You weren’t happy when I brought up Kylo Ren either,” he complains bitterly. Rey rolls her eyes.

“Do you know how weird it is for you to talk about him in third person? You should really stop doing that, by the way. The other technicians don’t like it either.”

“ _Nobody_ likes it, apparently,” he mutters darkly.

“Oh, hush, if you were just upset I wasn’t boosting your ego…”

“You never answered me before,” he interrupts, finally meeting her gaze. “You rejected my offer to rule the galaxy by my side, but you never answered me. About your feelings.”

Rey blinks, her hazel eyes wide underneath the whiteness of the lights.

“Wasn’t I already clear about that?” she asks, her lips curling upwards. Kylo wrinkles his nose, wondering what else is there to say.

“Rejecting my presents, having nothing good to say about Kylo Ren, and rejecting all my attempts at comming you…”

“Oh, _kriff,_ ” Rey murmurs. She huffs fondly, and then pulls the front of Kylo’s worksuit so violently that he lurches forward. Their mouths slam together—not painfully, at least—and he inhales through his nose sharply as Rey kisses him, _finally_ kisses him.

Her lips are just as soft as they look. He presses harder, mouth opening slightly as he admires the line of her lashes as she slides her eyes shut. Her hand that’s fisted in his shirt relaxes, and he reaches forward to finally cup her jaw, traces the edge with his thumb. Rey smiles against his lips, and he smiles back, allows himself to tangle his fingers in the hair at the base of her head.

Her hand slides over his chest. When they finally pull back, Kylo licks his lips. He notes the way Rey’s eyes glaze over and follow the movement of his tongue. He smirks.

“You should have made that clear from the start,” he whispers. Rey raises a brow.

“And miss out on the chance to see you actually _work_ on it? No thanks.”

He presses his lips tightly together. “I’m not… used to this.”

She shrugs. “Neither am I.” And then smiles again, in that soft, quiet way that he likes. But he likes all of her smiles, and all of her expressions—yes, even when she’s angry at him, even when she’s roaring like a beautiful creature, weapon held high above her head—so he softens under her touch. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Kylo nods. And then, because he supposes it’s better to ask now than never—

“When are you heading back?” he asks in a whisper, trying to keep his voice level. Rey doesn’t pull away from him, and for that he is grateful.

“I have at least a month left on this mission. They’ll grant me more time if I can gather better information.”

Kylo sighs. His determination wavers—no, _no_ , it doesn’t waver. It gives way, collapsing like a ruin. Just like how his heart is putty in Rey’s hands. And she smiles at him, not even expectant, like she knows he’ll disagree.

So he surprises both of them.

“I know Hux’s passcodes.”

She eyes him strangely. “Are you _sure?_ Won’t the Supreme Leader find out and have your head?”

Not that he’d kill him already if he knew all of _this_.

Kylo’s smile is thin-lipped. “He’s the head of the new Stormtrooper training regime. That has nothing to do with me.”

Rey shakes her head. But she buries her face into his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her, embraces her as tightly as he can.

Eventually, he knows this will all explode in their faces. But until then, Rey is warm and soft against him, and he looks out into the viewport, wondering which planets she’d like to explore the most.

As for him: he has no preference. As long as she’s by his side.

At least he can finally hold her hand without wearing this kriffing wig.


End file.
